


The New Orphans

by Endraking



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Assassins for hire, Brutal weather, Distrust, Escaped Theo, Garrett leads the group, Gen, GreenWolf2k19, Somewhere in Russia, The New Orphans, The Orphan Assassins, Younger characters, pre-canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 04:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endraking/pseuds/Endraking
Summary: On a mission, deep with Russia, the Orphans finished off their most recent target.  While they wait for the weather to clear, they find a lost boy that isn't from the area.  The mysteries continue as they receive a mission to handle three masked men.





	The New Orphans

Cold settled into his bones, the chill slipping through the tiny cracks in the earthen recessed concrete and metal bunker.  The flames of candles and the makeshift fireplace dances with each new addition of the cold, a reminder that the military built such facilities rarely with comfort in mind.  The scent of gun oil and the sounded of metal against metal and the shuffling of feet and cloth were the only things to break the silence. 

He stared at the tiny green screen on the oversized version of a SAT phone.  The three dots on the screen the only sign that his message and images had uploaded.  After several minutes, he sniffed away the drip from the tip of his nose just as the message was received.  The list was presented with each member of the group and their new updated totals.  When he read his name- GARRETT -17.000 he couldn't stop the grin from growing.  VIOLET -15.600.  They were close, so close to being able to finally collect money for their services.

The follow-on message pulled a chuckle from him as the other members looked his way:

THERE IS AN ADDITIONAL 25.000 FOR THE DELIVERY OF MIKHAILOV

His fingers danced over the numbers, quickly inputting the message before he sent it:

AND GIVE YOU AN EXCUSE TO CANCEL THE PAYMENTS WITH THE AUTHORITIES, NO THANKS.  THE DIRECTOR'S ACCIDENT WILL BE ENOUGH.

The reply came quickly:

NO NEW ASSIGNMENTS.  FOLLOW PROCEDURE FOR NEXT TARGET.

One of the figures, clad head to toe in a white snowsuit, wearing a skull mask walked from the dusty cots with the group and approached him.  They stood over him, eyes glimmering through the darkened slots before a hand moved to their neck.  He tilted his head to them as they lifted the mask.  Violet smiled down at him, "What'd they say?"

"Only 17 thousand before we're free."

"One, maybe two more targets."

"We're so close."

He'd spent the last nine years side by side with Violet.  When they first began their work a few years ago, the total had been 5 hundred thousand each.  Now, they could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The Orphan life was as simple as it was difficult.  Every member of this small six person team disappeared from the face of the planet during their formative years.  He only had one memory from his time before, one he shared with Violet.

That swing in the park.  Nothing grand, nothing truly that special, but something they shared back when they had parents that held suburban dreams of college lives and normalcy.

He remembered the van too.

Long before the lessons of Stranger Danger could sink in, they'd snuck to the tiny little park in their cul de sac.  The rebellious freedom of playing with their homes just within sight, but beyond the control of time outs and play times ending.

But that choice snuffed out either of their abilities to decide how normal their lives would be.

That was ages ago.

Violet knelt and reached out, squeezing his shoulder once and giving the smallest smile, "So close, little brother."

He returned the smile, "Yeah, big sis."

She looked back to the group and asked softly, "What's the next mission?"

He stood, pocketing the bulking device in the hidden pocket of his parka, "No assignments.  We could see if any other targets were tracked near this area."

She shot him a glare, "It's cold.  We should track someone to Hawaii or the Caribbean.  I still don’t know why you thought this would be a good assignment."

“Director Mikhailov?  Do you know what he’s done?”

She sighed as she looked away from him, “Probably pissed off the wrong people on his way to power, right?”

He shook his head, “No, big sis.  That asshole is the reason that whole forests were leveled because he had a hard on for testing bombs.  Do you know how much of the land is scarred burned ruins or burned to glass because of him?  Do you know how many habitats this asshole destroyed?  How many species he pushed to extinction?  Yeah, our clients don’t care but it made my decision easy.”

She raised an eyebrow as she looked back to him expectantly, “And the other target choice?”

He shrugged casually, “I don’t remember.”

“Really?”  Her gaze pierced through his attempt.

“Alright fine.  He was a journalist in Rome.”

She stepped away from him, clicking her tongue before she charged back, “So we had to go to this frigid armpit of the world because the Director was a prick?”

He stood and argued back, “No.  He had to die because of on top of his treachery that earned him the enemies that hired us, he loved nothing more than to watch the world burn.  And I don’t know about you but I’d like to have a world to live in and enjoy when we’re finally free.”

She mumbled under her breath, “Rome would be nice this time of year.”

He shot back, “And even nicer if it isn’t reduced to a dust heap along with the rest of the country side.”

She relented, “Fine.  You’re right.  At least there’s one less person trying to turn the natural world into a crater.”

He stepped closer and pulled her into a hug.  Their signs of affection were few but meaningful.  He couldn’t risk appearing weak to the others but he’d gladly show that assassins can have principles too.

He released her and looked out the tiny clouded glass covered opening that was the closest thing to an actual window.  If it weren't for the tiny movements of shadows, he wouldn't be able to recognize if the blizzard sealed them in, or if it was still raging.  There was no doubt that the team would have to hunker down until the storm passed.

"Get used to the snow."  He turned back to her with a devilish grin.

She muttered something harshly in Russian.  No doubt some kind of insult but her Russian was far superior to his.  He could only chuckle as she rejoined the group cleaning and preparing their firearms and munitions.

It was times like these that he was glad to specialize in slipping in close and using poison and blades.  Poison may run out but blades tend not to care how many rounds one carries.

Still, as the young leader of this detachment, he had responsibilities too.  He looked to the few remaining pieces of wood.  He hated it, but someone would have to endure the storm to retrieve some more.  If they lost the fire, they might lose their lives in this bitter cold.

14 was far too young of an age to be a leader.  14 was far too young of an age to handle the assignments.  He should be a child, doing teen things instead of crunching through the snow, barely seeing farther than his reach, but all that innocence was crushed years ago.

He knew he should be more careful.  It was still light and rather than traveling into the forest, he made his way back to the tiny town where the Director's body rested.  Mikhailov had food and wood, neither of which he'd need.

He wasn't worried though.

With a town this small, no one would look until after the storm had passed.  And the director didn't choose this retreat for friends.

Loading his pack with the hard bread and cans of food was far too easy.  The man's body slumped on his chair, the icicles of blood frozen to his fingertips.  The shocked look of fear forever locked on the man's face, priceless.

After filling the remainder of his pack with split wood, he had one more thing to do.  The entrance to the town wasn't far. Besides the scent of smoke and wisps of black from chimneys, no one would even know the town was inhabited, which gave him his opportunity.

As he reached the sign, he slipped a hand into his pocket and retrieved a thick black marker.  He acted quickly, popping the cap and making his change to the sign before the ink froze.  With the tiniest snicker, he stared at his masterpiece.

Population: ~~287~~ 286.

Maybe his innocence and sense of mischief weren't entirely crushed.

He admired his handiwork for far longer than he should, taking his glee as the pains nipped at his nose, ears, and fingertips even through the layers.  Only when the sound of something hitting the ground reached him did he break from his reverie.

It wasn't a tree.

I wasn't any of the structures buckling.

But it was close.

His sense of danger kicked in as he moved out of the main path and checked his surroundings.  His ears tensed, pushing against the sides of his head as he strained to hear anything.

Silence.

He waited.  The cold slipping through his nostrils and mouth, stabbing his lungs with each harsh breath.  Still, it was a pain that could save his life.

Just before he lowered his foot to head back to the bunker, another sound.  Something struggling in the snow.

If an animal had been foolish enough to wander out into the blizzard, maybe his team would eat better than food stored in old cans.

He crept towards the source of the sound, using the eerie silence of the storm to help him triangulate the origin as the weak slaps helped guide him.

He was almost on top of the source before he realized it.  The blizzard fought to claim the figure in a sea of white, trying to usher them into death.

It was a boy, not much different from himself.  His clothes were tattered, exposed skin darkened around gashed open wounds of his arms and legs.

The boy wasn't local.  No children lived here and that fact alone almost got him killed.  But this boy was a mystery.

He could head back and let the cold finish what something else started, or take him back.

He began to head back but weak, broken Russian pulled him to look down to the boy.  Steel grey eyes met his own.

He'd have to explain it to Violet, but his decision was made as he saw a glimmer of something he recognized.

One Orphan can always recognize another.

"We're not keeping him."

Garrett looked back to Violet, catching the hints of her body language through the layers as he knelt next to his cot, the one currently occupied by the dark haired boy.  "So you want me to take him back?"

"He's a local.  They'll-"

He barely held back the irritation in his voice, "Come on sis.  There are no kids here."

"And here he is."

He shook his head and placed his bare hand on the boy's forehead.  The boy was running hot, which was good considering he'd been almost frozen solid when he first dragged him into the bunker.  The sub thermal sleeping bag was helping.  He grew a bit concerned as he reached into the bag and pulled the boy's arm free.  His limbs felt heavy, still very cold.

"What makes him special?"

"He's an Orphan."

She replied sharply, "He's not one of us.  He hasn't endured anything-"

"Except this blizzard and finding this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere."  He glanced back with a smug grin.

"That doesn't mean-"

The boy croaked the word, "C-cold."

Violet's eyes widened and he capitalized, "And he happens to speak English without a Russian accent."

"We're still not keeping him."

"C-cold."

Garrett reached into the bag and pulled out a large misshapen can and tossed it to Violet with a grin, "Do me a favor and fix our guest something to eat."

If looks could kill he'd have two holes in his head from the intensity of her gaze as it bored into him, "What?"

He stood as he began to strip out of his layers, the shiver hitting instantly from the breeze within the tiny complex and the meager fire's warmth.  "He needs to warm up.  So you can do this for me or feel free to take my place in my sleeping bag helping him."

She curled her lip, rolling her eyes and stepping towards the fire.  "I hope I burn it."

"Thanks Sis, you're the best."  His reply was light, filled with the broken love between them.

The boy's weak croak, "Cold" pulled him back.

With two pronounced movements, he'd shed the clothes from his body and unzipped the side of the bag.

The chill hit his bones as he slid in, slotting his leg between the boy's legs and tangling their limbs.  He reached out of the bag and grabbed the zipper tip before he clumsily pulled it up, eventually encasing them together.  He shifted his body and pulled himself even closer until their noses almost touched.  The effect was almost instantaneous as his body heat reflected off the bag and the warmth touched everything inside.

He stared into those grey eyes, barely open but meeting the gaze with fierce determination.  After several moments, he whispered softly, "What's your name?"

The boy's eyes darted, scanning his gaze, before he responded with the slightest bit more strength, "C-cold."

He didn't mean to laugh loudly in the boy's face but the reaction caught him, "Your name isn't cold.  And I'm helping with that."

To emphasize his point, he rubbed his hands across the boy's broad back, bringing heat to the chilled skin.

The boy's cold hand slipped between them and rested against his chest.  He shivered from the contact and moved his own between them.  His hand joined the boys and he slid it into his palm and laced their fingers together.  "You're going to be alright.  We aren't abandoning you."

Maybe it was the comforting words, or a reaction to his body heat but the boy began to warm up.  In a matter of minutes, warm became hot, to the point he could feel sweat beading on his forehead.  He pulled their hands out into the open air.

He rubbed the darkened fingertips against his cheek, partially using the chilled fingers to cool himself, his eyes still locked with the boys.  No words passed as their blinks came to be synchronized, even their heartbeats fell into rhythm.  Only when he moved their clasped hands to his other cheek did he shift his gaze.

Before his eyes the blacks and purples lightened and he couldn't pull away as they seemed to shift before his very eyes.  First to purples and blues and finally to throbbing reds.  He whispered, "What are you?"

Before the boy could respond Violet announced her presence, "The food is ready."

He shifted himself in the tight bag, keeping his hold on the boy's hand as he twisted until he was spooned by warmth.

Violet held the metal bowl, with a spoon dipped into the soup.  Her eyes went to the boy's hand, "So he isn't one of us, he's different."

He nodded and the boy pressed against him tighter as he mumbled against his ear, "Hungry."

With a chuckle he replied, "Yeah.  And he's hungry.  Did you burn it?"

She rolled her eyes and set the bowl on the floor, "No.  But you might need to watch him to make sure he doesn't eat you.  I'm not dealing with another fight to determine our leader."

He reached out of the bag with their clasped hands to grab the zipper and the boy slid his free hand under him and pulled him tighter against his chest.  He looked back over his shoulder with a grin, "You're hungry.  I'm going to feed you.  It's not like I can do that while you pretend to be an octopus."

It moved at glacial speed, the grey blank stare to the twitch at the edge of his mouth.  When the tiny laugh finally broke, he couldn't help but joining as he squinted his eyes from the drastic transformation.

The boy slowly released the hold, allowing him to unzip the bag and slip out.

The cold hit him immediately and he slid on his pants.  As he tried to grab his shirt, the boy tightened the grip on his hand, refusing to unlace their fingers.

"Fine.  I'll do it shirtless."

Those eyes met his mirth, and that tiny smile grew.

He scooped the first spoon full and fed the boy.  The boy's eyes flashed golden and he could feel the pricks of claws against his hand as the boy at.  Spoon by spoon he fed the ravenous boy.  As the contents of the bowl disappeared, he wondered how long the boy went without eating.

He did notice one thing though, the boy wasn't a Wendigo.  He ate the potato soup without a second thought so at least he didn't have to worry about the boy deciding if he was on the menu.

After each bite, the boy squeezed his hand.  It was endearing.  He'd never taken care of someone like this and it warmed something within his chest that he long felt was extinguished.

When the bowl was finished, the boy looked up to him with the largest golden eyes, begging for more.  He shrugged lightly, "That's it.  You ate our dinner."

The boy looked down and away once the phrase sank in.  He leaned in, "It's fine.  I wasn't hungry.  I'm cold though."

He could barely begin to climb back in when he felt the pressure and was pulled into the bag.  They laid face to face, the boy's blinks becoming longer until he closed his eyes.  With a huff he sighed, "And I still don't know your name."

In the still of the night, the fire long since dying down to embers, he felt the warmth against his cheek and the word that floated through the night.

"Theo."


End file.
